35 
P13 



«0 PLrAYS EXCIiANGCD. 



.jamer'5 Edition 

or PL7\Y3 



The Deacon's Second 
Wife 




ODPYRIQHT, <«St, BY WALTER H. BAKER A CO. 




Class; r<£?oS 
Book . 2 ^ A ^ 3 



Copyright N''. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



The Deacon's Second Wife 



^1 



A Comedy in Three Acts 



By 

ALLAN ABBOTT 

Author of ^^ Nephew or Uncle y* etc. 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO. 

1910 



,*?> 



The Deacon's Second Wife 



CHARACTERS 



(^As originally produced under the title of*' Back to Nature y*^ at 
The Horace Mann School, New Torky by the Senior Class 
of igog,for the benefit of The Athletic Field.) 



(In order of their first 
Malvina FlTZ 
Deacon Barachias Fitz . 
Milton George Washington Fitz 
Nancy Melissa Fitz 
Mrs. Brown . 
Kate Rollins 
John D. Bullock 
Mrs. Bullock 
Dorothy Bullock 
Hartley Bullock 
Ernest Rench 
Philip Gamboge 



entrance) 

Marion Halsey. 
Bryant Hervey. 
Edward Steckler. 
Dorothy Kohn. 
Pauline Tenny. 
Dorothy Cheesvian. 
Charles Meyer. 
Mally Lord. 
Gertrude Griffith. 
Arthur Sulsberger. 
Beverley Burnham. 
Waldo Sellew. 



SYNOPSIS OF SCENES 

Act I. — Sitting-room in Deacon Fitz's farmhouse. 
Act II. — Deacon Fitz's dooryard. 
Act III. — Sitting-room, rearranged. 

Time : — The Present. 




Copyright, i 910, by Walter H. Baker & Co. 

TMP92-Q08535 



(gCI.D 17842 



PROPERTIES 

Act I. — Electric belt in table drawer. Two pasteboard 
boxes. Odds and ends of clothing. Rag carpet. String. 
Hat, cape and umbrella for Mrs. Fitz. Patchwork bag contain- 
ing rolls of gaudy colored cloth, some of them to afford good 
lines, such as: ''That was my weddin' weskit," etc., and a 
stocking full of money. Apple and cookies for Milton, also 
bean-blower and three doughnuts. Black skirt and old shawl for 
Nancy to take to Kate. Straw suit- case for Kate and white 
wig with bobbing curls and grease paints for her make-up. 
Wallet for Bullock. Luggage for Ernest. 

Act II. — Savvhorse, chopping-block, several sticks of fire- 
wood, partly sawn up, an axe and a saw. Low seats on either 
side of door, r. Up stage, r., bench with tin wash-basin. 
Newspaper for Bullock. Off stage, r., a brassy phonograph. 
Note-book, pencil and red handkerchief for Hartley. Fancy 
apron, flowers in hair and colander full of peas for Dorothy. 
Parasol, handkerchief and letter for Mrs. Bullock ; jelly-bag 
off R. Three doughnuts for Milton off r. Shovel, rake and 
hoe for Ernest and Hartley. Off R. dinner-bell ready. Off r. 
for Kate, dipper of water and roller towel. For Philip, knap- 
sack, portable easel, sketch-book, paint-box, brushes, handker- 
chief, postal-card and pencil. For second entrance, a small 
sketch of chrysanthemums. 

Act III. — Easel, pallette and brushes for Philip. Light, 
silky lavender scarf for Kate. 



The Deacon's Second Wife 



ACT I 

SCENE. — Living-room in Deacon Fitz's house. Doors down 
R. and up L. j windows R. and l. in flat, with sofa between 
them. A mantelpiece with a stove in front of it, Just above 
entrance r. ; table C, with rocking-chair to the right of it, 
and an ordinary chair to the left. Big Bible on table and 
a very ugly table cover. Another chair against wall at L. 
The furniture of the room is oldfashioned mahogany cov- 
ered with haircloth, if possible. Quaint and ugly pictures 
on the ivalls, framed mottoes, etc., including a portrait of 
*' The Old Squire.'' In upper l. corner is a *• what-not,'' 
or a set of cone brackets overloaded ivith knickknacks, as is 
also the mantel. Two small packing boxes r. of table c. 

{Discovered L. c, Mrs. Fitz, busy packing. She is a tall, 
erect woman of middle age. Brisk, efficient, impatient, 
but kind of heart and very solicitous for her husband's 
welfare. She pauses, left of table, and calls off R.) 

Mrs. F. Barachias ! Barachias . 

'D^kCO'ti {from off R.). Yes, Malviny? 

Mrs. F. Find it? 

Deacon. No. 

Mrs. F. Secont bag on the right. No, not first bag, secont 
bag. (Aside.) My husband's one of the saints of the earth, 
but he'd try the patience of Job. Everything in this house 
has been in the same identical spot for eighteen years, an' he 
don't know where to find things yet. Got it? Blessed are the 
meek for they shall inherit — well ! 

Deacon enters r. He is a hale, elderly man, semi- bald, with 
ruddy complexion and stiff, square-chopped beard ; genial, 
absent-minded, dependent on his wife. He wears rusty 
farm clothes ; ivaistcoat, but no collar or coat ; big 
square boots. He carries a large ^'piece-bag," made of 
patchwork, in his ri^ht hand ; pauses at door. 

5 



b THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 

Deacon. Guess I must have got turned around. You see, 
Malviny, you didn't say whether it was right hand goin' up- 
stairs, or right hand comin' down. 

Mrs. F. I sh'd think any one who'd been over them stairs 

as often as you Here, let me hold the bag open, an' you 

feel for the money. 

{Comgs to R. c, takes bag and holds it open. Picture: 
Deacon, head and shoulders in the bag. ) 

Deacon {straightening up, out of breath'). You don't cal'- 
late this is the wrong bag ? 

Mrs. F. Wrong bag? Do you suppose I've been a-skimp- 
in' and a-savin' money and a-puttin' of it away for eighteen 
years, hard times and soft, without knowin' what bag it's in ? 

{Turns bag upside down, shaking out on the floor a multitude 
of small rolls of cloth, of all colors. Deacon and Mrs. F. 
on haftds and knees hunting through them. Business of 
Deacon holding up various rolls with appropriate com- 
ments as, '^ By snakes/'' *^ My weddi?i' weskit /** etc. 
Mrs. F. finds stocking full of money. Deacon puts it 
on table while she holds bag open for him to stuff pieces.) 

Deacon {seated in rocker, r. c. ; corner of packing-box on 
his knees. Shakes out money). How much you reckon you 
better take, Malviny ? 

Mrs. F. Well, there's a dollar for stage, goin' and comin' 
— ticket on the railroad two seven ty- five ; — ten cents for a 
sandwich an' a piece of pie at the Junction — say five dollars ; 
an' that allows a dollar an' fifteen cents for emergencies. 

Deacon {rising, handing bill to her). Great snakes ! If 
you k'n git out of a fust-class emergency for a dollar fifteen, 
gol ding it if they're not cheaper than they used to be ! 

{Replaces stocking in bag, takes it back to door R. and throws 
it off sta^e.) 

Mrs. F. I'm not looking for no great amount of emer- 
gencies as long as I've got an English tongue in my head. An' 
you'll see me back in two days with my sister's two sons, if I 
can bring 'em. You might as well get the mowin' started 
to-morrow, an' they'll be here in time to help git it in. 



THE deacon's second WIFE "J 

(^She continues packing the pasteboard boxes on the sofa. ) 

Deacon. Gol ding it ! If I wouldn't like to see one of 
them big mowers they use out West. Fust thing you know 
they'll make the hay, git it in the barn and feed it to the stock 
all by electricity. 

(^Crosses l. and sits in chair down L.) 

Mrs. F. An' electric machines don't get the rheumatiz. 
Barachias, do you ever expect we can sell the farm an' move 
to the village? You done about your share of work, 'pears to 
me. incomes front to table.') 

Deacon, hy cricky ! {Rubs his back.) Dunno but I 
think so too ! A little house in the village, with about one 
cow an' a little garden patch would give me most all the farmin' 
I need the rest of my days. Nancy and Milton would be near 
the school, too. 

Mrs. F. Mebbe that agent of the lumber company will 
make you a good offer for your pine grove. 

Deacon. Or if your nevvews will help me build a porch 
around the front of the house, mebbe we can sell it to the city 
folks to rusticate in. 

Mrs. F. City folks ! Ain't you had enough of city folks? 
Summer trash, I call 'em. 

Deacon. Now, Malviny ! Don't you get wrought up ! 

Mrs. F. {crossing -r. c, down). Have we ever had any city 
boarders here that didn't try to swindle the very shingles off 
the barn? Cluttering up the whole house, drivin' off the 
horses when you needed 'em for hayin', skippin' their board, 
selling you fool things no sensible man would look at — summer 
trash ! I hope to goodness I'll never see one on 'em again ! 

Deacon {crossing r.). Come now, Malviny, if you get 
a-goin' on summer boarders, you'll miss the stage. Ain't you 
better have the children look out for it now ? 

Mrs. F. {to door i..). Milton! Milton! Where be you? 
{Enter Milton Fitz, l. Small boy ; bare legs, browned. 
Sneakers. Big straw hat, torn. Mrs. F., at table.) Milton 
George Washington, where's your hat ? 

Mil. (l.). Be you blind, maw ? On my head. 

(Deacon laughs.) 

Mrs. F. Take it off in the house ! What would your 
Cousin Kate think, comin' to-day, just from New York? 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 

Mil. If the picture papers is true, I guess she's got a hat 
to beat it. 

{Takes off hat ; -Deacon laughs and sits.) 

Mrs. F. You run over to Mrs. Brown's and ask lier if she 
can come right over for a few minutes. An' tell your sister I 
want she should come here right off. Don't let the grass grow 
under your feet ! \_£xU Mil., l. 

Deacon. You reckon we'll have enough to eat while you're 
gone ? 

Mrs. F. Well, if you ain't, you must have more appetite 
than becomes the deacon of an orthodox church. Didn't I 
spend all day yesterday bakin' ? There's a pot of beans, and 
a can of brown bread, three pans of riz biscuit, five loaves of 
bread, a layer cake, and a crock full of doughnuts ; besides 
eight pies, — three lemon and five dried apple. I guess that'll 
keep you till day after to-morrow, an' some to spare. 

Deacon. By the livin' cook-stove ! I reckon that'll hold 
us down ! 

Mrs. F. {calling, from door l.). Nancy Melissy ! 

Enter Nancy Fitz, l. A girl of twelve. Hair pulled back 
very tight, ift one braid. Bedraggled dress much out- 
grown. 

Nan. {crossing to l. c). Yes, maw. 

Mrs, F. (l.). Nancy, go set on the back porch an' watch 
out for the stage. Tell me the minute you see it cross the 
bridge, so's 't I'll have time to put on my bunnit. 

Nan. Yes, maw. 

{During this conversation, Deacon is busy tying up the two 
boxes with heavy cord.) 

Mrs. F. Then you k'n be all ready to meet your Cousin 
Kate Rollins. You got her room all scrubbed clean, an' fresh 
linen on the bed ? 

Nan. Yes, maw, an' the towel with red fringe you gave me 
Christmas. 

Mrs. F. I expect after her winter in New York she'll be 
real particular. But if she's anything like her mother, she's 
smart as a steel trap, and will take right holt an' help. No 
summer trash about the Rollinses. You see 't she has a good 
welcome. Now run out an' watch for thet stage. 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 9 

(Mil. appears i?i window ^ l. c, with a putty-blower. 
Business with putty-blower. Each time he hits Deacon 
he slaps his head, exclaiming: ^^ Set fire ! That feels 
like a yellow-jacket,'" etc. After business he thrusts head 
in and speaks. ) 

Mil. Say, maw ! I didn't have to go for Mrs. Brown ! 
She's comin' over here, about as tight as she can put ! 

\_Exit Nan., giggling. 

Mrs. F. I want to know ! Must 'a' been a kind of second 
sight ; 'tain't everybody that always knows when they're wanted. 

Enter Mrs. Brown, l. Anxious, hurried. Dress, a loose 
prifit morning wrapper. Flannel bandage around throat. 
Speaks with a deprecatory drawl. 

Mrs. B. (coming c). Anybody passed away? 
Deacon (r.) Passed away ! HuUy graveyard ! 
Mrs. F. (l.). Passed away ! 

Deacon. Nobody we know on. All of us are feeling pretty 
chipper, barrin' rheumatiz. 

(Mil. repeats business with putty-blower.') 

Mrs. B. Then I've had my trip over for nothin'. I see 
crape on the door, an' thought I might be needed to help lay 
out. 

Deacon. Crape on the door ? 

Mrs. F. Milton, what tricks have you been up to now ? 

Mil. (who has been watching through window). Why, I 
knowed Mrs. Brown would come quicker if she had something 
to interest her. So I just tied your black stockin'son the door- 
knob. 

Mrs. F. Wait till I get you, you young scapegrace ! 
(Dashes for window. Mil. vanishes. Deacon laughs and 
slaps Iwnself.) Barachias Fitz ! I should think you'd be 
ashamed to stand there and laugh at such carryin' on ! 

Deacon. Waj, you wanted Mrs. Brown here, an' now 
you've got her, I don't see but what you ought to be satisfied. 
Mrs. Brown, won't you have a chair? 

Mrs. B. (sitting left of table). I s'pose I might as well. I 
ain't as strong as I once was — but then, we won't any of us be 
any younger. 



10 THE deacon's SECOND WIFfi 

{All seated ; Mrs. F., r. ; Mrs. B., l; Deacon, c, on sofa.) 

Deacon. How you feeling, Mrs. Brown ? 

Mrs. B. Well, I might be better, but then I might be worse. 
I been sufferin' from the sore throat, lately — seems like it was 
the real old quinsy. 

Mrs. F. 1 wanted you should know Fm going away for two 
days to my sister's, over Dorchester way. 

Mrs. B. Well, — I hope you won't come to no harm. Last 
week they tell me there was an accident. 

Mrs. F. All the more reason why there won't be one this 
week. The train men will be looking out sharp for a while, 
anyhow. 

Deacon. Yes, if Malvina was on a train, by crickets ! I 
reckon she'd keep the conductor awake and on the job. 

(^Laughs.') 

Mrs. F. I'm goin' over to see if I can get my two nevvews 
to come back and help until the hayin'. There don't seem to 
be no hired help around, an' with hay sixteen dollars a ton, it 
don't pay to risk gettin' it in with just one man an' a boy. 

Mrs. B. Hayin's a risky time, anyhow. Suppose a big 
thunder-storm come up while you're gone, an' beat the hay all 
down ? 

Mrs. F. {standing suddenly ; stiffly). I guess my bein' 
here wouldn't keep the thunder-storm off. I ain't no lightning- 
rod. (Sits.) But what I wanted to say was this. You know 
my husband's niece is comin* to-day for a three weeks' visit. 

Mrs. B. No! Who's she? 

Deacon. My sister Beth's girl. Been all last winter board- 
in' in New York, an' goin' to school there. We ain't seen her 
since she was eight, — that's nine year ago come Thanksgivin*. 
She was a cute little thing then— real peart and knowin' ! 

Mrs. B. You can't judge much about children — they 
change before you know it. Now, there was my brother 
Simeon's boy 

Mrs. F. What I wanted to ask you was, would you run in 
once in a while an' see if things are goin' all right while Fm 
gone? It won't be but two days — three at the most. An' I'd 
feel easier to think there was some one lookin' out for those 
children — you know the Deacon is just a big boy himself. 

Deacon. I guess Malviny's wished more than once she 



THE DEACONS SECOND WIFE It 

could give me a lickin' or send me to bed without a supper. 
You remember the Hallowe'en we bobbed for apples? Lor! 
how I did laugh that night ! (^Laughs and slaps his k?iee.') 

Mrs. B. Yes, I reckon they'll need some one to look after 
'em. I'll consider it a solenui duty, while they are bereft of 
your care. Lord send they don't come down with some sick- 
ness. They tell me down to the village that the measles 

Enter Mil., l. 

Mil. Maw, sister says get on your hat. 
Mrs. F. {jumping up and crossing to sofa). The stage is 
comin'. Land sakes, where's my hat? 

(Deacon brings hat to her and helps her to collect boxes. ) 

Mrs. B. I must be getting back, an' take my pies out of the 
oven. I expect they are burnt to a crisp. ( Crosses to door, l.) 
I hope, Mrs. Fitz, you won't come to no mishaps ! \^£xit, l. 

Nan. {entering and crossing down l.). Here comes the stage 
up the hill, and Kate's on the front seat, drivin' ! 

Deacon. Come, mother, you better hurry, or you'll get left 
behind. 

Mrs. F. {gathering up her luggage — tiuo boxes, jacket, um- 
brella ; busitiess with packages. Steps toward door, l., and 
repeatedly turns back with further directions). Don't let the 
house get all upset while I'm gone — Barachias, keep your eye 
on Milton ! a lickin' every day on general principles wouldn't 
hurt him — Nancy, don't forget to feed the chickens — if the man 
comes about the electric belt, the money's behind the clock — 
an' if any agents come to sell the Scriptures embellished, tell 
'em we prefer our Scriptures just as they was writ ! And, Bara- 
chias, remember ! while I'm gone, don't you have no dealings 
with no summer trash. {Exit l., helped by '^a.-^. Business 
with packages. Mrs. F., outside.) Well, Katie, child ! I'd 
never have known you ! Run right in with your Cousin Nancy ! 
You'll see me back soon ! 

{All call out : " Good-bye, mother ./" etc.) 

Kate Rollins enters l. , followed by Nan. and Mil. She is 
a girl of about seventeen, in Jieat traveling or school suit, 
and simple, jaunty hat. Nan. and she are both trying to 
carry a straw suit- case. Nan. to L., with case; Mil, 
stays by door munching an apple. 



12 THE deacon's SECOND WIFE 

Kate (c). No, no, child, it's not heavy a bit. 

Deacon (c). Kitty, my dear, I'm glad to see you. 

Kate. Thank you. Uncle Barachias. ( Crosses L. c, down ; 
Nan. up to sofa to leave suit-case.) So good to see dear old 
New Hampshire again ! Just think ! a whole year away. 

Deacon. Your Aunt Malviny has to go away for a couple 
of days, but we'll give ye enough welcome to make up for it. 

Kate {turning). Oh ! You must let me help run the 
house. We had cooking in the Horace Mann Schools, and I 
know all about carbohydrates — and proteids and — Nereids — oh, 
no, Nereids are in the mythology, but honest and true, I can 
make dandy muffins, and the best salad you ever ate ! 

Deacon. Fact is, Kitty, we're not strong on salad here; 
we eat our greens mostly cooked, or else with sugar and vine- 
gar. But when your aunt's beans and pie give out, you can 
make us some carbohydrates or Nereids. 

Nan. {taking stage). And you can show me all about how 
they cook in New York. What kind of pie do you make 
most? 

Kate. They don't let us make pie — they don't think it's 
good for us. 

Nan. Oh ! they ought to come up here and eat maw's mock- 
mince — all raisins and currants and brown sugar and maple syrup 
and cider and citron, spices, melted butter — and whipped cream 
on top ! 

Deacon. Or green apple pie with lots of molasses in. 

Kate {sitting). But tell me about Aunt Malvina. Where 
is she going ? 

(Nan. crosses to Mil,, taking a cooky from his pocket.) 

Deacon. You see, Kitty, I'm sort of put to it this year 
about the hayin' ; my rheumatiz set in earlier than usual, and 
she's gone to your Uncle Judd's in Dorchester to get his boys 
to come and help me out. 

Nan. Last year we had a boarder that helped. He was a 
perfectly elegant man — had lovely purple shirts ; and he was 
agent for the Magic Electric Belt. 

Deacon. Yes, he was a good hand to work. . Said it was 
because he wore the electric belt himself all the time. 

Kate (c.) What is the electric belt ? (Rises to examine 
belt. ) 

Deacon {getting one from table drawer). You see this 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 



is 



plate is full of electricity — it'll make a compass spin 'round. 
You wear it one week in back and the next week in front, an' 
the electricity just shoots through you. It's good for you 
whether there's anything the matter or not. 

Kate. So your boarder sold you a belt ? 

Deacon. Oh, yes, I've one, and great snappin' turtle! 
warn't your aunt mad ! And a fresh one comes every three 
months. He worked up a pretty good trade here in town — the 
only folks that didn't buy one was your Aunt Malviny and the 
minister ; he allowed the belt cured most too many things for 
'em all to be true, an' (^folding it up) I don't know but he was 
right. 

Kate. Well, it's a shame about your rheumatism, uncle ; 
maybe we can find a boarder who'll help this year — or can't 1 
learn to do haying? I'd love to drive one of those kicky-out 
machines — it would feel like being a giant grasshopper. 

Deacon. You mean a tedder? Bless you, child, hayin's a 
man's work. You'll find plenty to do around, without goin' 
out on the farm. 

Kate {to\.. c). Nancy, tell me some of the things you do; 
do you go to school ? 

Nan. Oh, yes, Milton and I, we go to school down to the 
centre. In winter we coast all the way on sleds. 

Kate. What grade are you in ? 

Nan. I'm fifth reader class; Milton's fourth. But he's the 
prime scholar in declamation. 

(Mil. makes for the door.) 

Deacon. You ought to hear him recite "Venerable Men," 
by Daniel Webster. You know Webster was one of our New 
Hampshire boys. Milton, come in here and do ''Venerable 
Men " for your Cousin Kate. 

(Deacon takes ail this with serious pride.) 

Mil. Oh, pa, must I ? 

Deacon. Yes, or you can't have but one piece of pie for 
supper. (Nan. rushes to door and drags in Mil., grinning 
sheepishly, down fro7ity L.) Now, brace up and don't forget 
your gestures. 

{Down R., with Kate and^A^.) 



14 THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 

Mil. {reciting with elaborate old time declajiiatory style and 
gestures, directing himself, so far as possible, toiuard teacliers 
arid alu7n7ii who may he in the audience'). "Venerable Men, 

you have come down to us from a former generation" 

{After three sentences.') Oh, pa ! won't you let me off if 
Nancy and I do " King Alcohol " ? 

Kate. What's '' King Alcohol " ? 

Nan. That's a song we learned for Prohibition Week last 
spring. We sang it in Grand Army Hall. 

Kate. Oh, yes, do sing '*King Alcohol." 

{Song,—^K^. and Mil.) 

*' We're coming, we're coming, our strong little band. 
On the right side of Temperance we all take our stand. 
We don't use tobacco, because we do think 
That them that does use it most always does drink. 
Down with King Al-co-hol ! " 

(Nan. and Mil. commence the above by taking hands and 
swifigi7ig to get time. Make a false start or two, taking 
i?i breath and letting it go again.) 

Deacon. Now, Kitty, tell us about your school. {Dur- 
ing the followifig scene Deacon is the most apprecia- 
tive one of the audience ; laughs, slaps his leg, etc. 
Kate may insert a page or two of Jokes ; burlesque of 
teachers, etc., written to suit local conditions. Deacon 
stands at close.) Good for you, Kitty — you'll do. We 
got to look after the stock now; but when we begin hayin' 
you shall drive your kicky-out machine. 

\_Exit, laughing and slappi?ig himself. 

Mil. And you can run my phonograph any time you 
want to. 

Kate. Have you a phonograph ? 

Nan. I guess he has ; and all the latest songs, too. You 
ought to hear '' Who put the overalls in Mrs. Murphy's chow- 
der ? ' ' {Humming tune. ) 

Mil. What else do you do at Horace Mann ? 

Kate. Well, we have plays. 

Nan. Oh, goody ! I never saw a play in all my life. 

Kate. Last year I was an old lady ; I'll show you. Nancy, 
can you get me a black skirt and an old shawl? (Nan. goes off 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 



15 



R. Kate goes up to sofa and kneels before mirror ivhich she 
braces on top of suit-case?) I've got a wig and some grease 
paints in my bag. I brought them along just for fun. {Back 
to audie?ice ; makes up as she talks. Enter Nan., r., with 
skirt and shawl.) You see, you put on your wig, rub a little 
cold cream on your face, dab some gray on your eyebrows and 
under your eyes, stick in a few lines, powder up a little, then 
if you've got the right costume (^puts skirt over head and shawl 
oti) — there you are ! [Stiddenly fronts audience and changes 
voice.) Don't you children know your old auntie? {Picture.) 

^^' \ (together). Oh, leave it on so dad can see ! 

Kate. All right, Milton, if you'll take my bag and things 
to my room, I'll play mother for a little while. (Mil. exits, r. ; 
Kate changes voice.) Now, dearie, you can be mother's little 
helper and get tea. 

(Nan. giggles.) 

Mil. reenters, r. 

Mil. Ma, what shall I do now ? 

{Giggles. Automobile horn heard, off h. All three jump. 
Confusion. Knock at door l. , gejitle at first, then louder. ) 

Kate (/;/ a panic). Wait, children ! I can't get this 
wig off. * 

(Mil. opens door and reveals John D. Bullock, who enters, 
followed by M.YiS. Bullock, Dorothy ^////Hartley.) 

John {uph.). I'd like to speak with your mother, if you'll 
call her. 

Mil. (do7vn r., dragging Kate to front). Ma, a gentle- 
man to speak with you. 

(John and his party, except the chauffeur ^ down l. , all in 
long coats and goggles.) 

John. 
Mil. Mrs. Bul. Dor. 

Nan. Kate, 

Mrs. Bul. My dear, you'd better let me, this time. {To 



l6 THE deacon's' second WIFE 

audience.') We've been turned away from three places already. 
{To Kate.) We stopped to ask you, Mrs. — Mrs. 

Mil. ) ^.^ 

Nan. I F"^- 

Kate. Fitz. 

Mrs. Bul. Mrs. Fitz — thank you — if you or one of your 
good neighbors could put us up. We are unacquainted with 
this part of New Hampshire, and don't really know what we 
are going to do, unless you will shelter us. 

Kate. Why, really, Mrs. — Mrs. 

John. Mrs. Bullock. ( Crosses infrotit of Mrs. Bul. /^l.) 
Of the firm of Bullock & Baer, brokers, 32 Wall Street. 

{Puts card on table.) 

Kate. Thank you. Mrs. Bullock, I really don't see how 
I could take the responsibility 

Nan. {dragging Kate down r. ; all edge somewhat 
toward c. ). Why, yes, ma. There's the parlor chamber and 
the two empty rooms over the sitting-room, and Milton and 1 
could go up attic. 

Mil. {at her left elbow). And there's the three pans of 
biscuit and eight pies. 

Mrs. Bul. (c). It would be only for a week; for that 
matter, we'll go any time you want us to. 

John (l., producing wallet). And we'll pay cash in ad- 
vance — anything in reason. 

Mrs. Bul. Charles ! Let me manage this time. 

Dor. (l.). Oh, do let us stay, Mrs. Fitz. I think this is the 
dearest place — I just fell in love with it the moment we came 
over the hill. 

{To l. c. Nan., business all through scene of admiring 
DOR.'s gown.) 

Kate (r.). I'm sure I don't know what Mr. Fitz will say. 

Har. (l., a little down). Tell him we'll all help on the 
farm. Sis has been crazy to make hay all summer — can't you 
see her ? 

*' Beneath her torn hat, glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health." 

Dor. If my hat is torn, it's because you insisted on speed- 
ing when we came through those woods. 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 1 7 

John. Now, Mrs. Fitz, would ten dollars a week be a fair 
price ? 

Kate. But Mr. Fitz 

Mrs. Bul. My dear, you may be sure we will not stay 
where we're not welcome. If your husband doesn't like the 
arrangement, we'll go at any time. 

Kate. All right, then, you may stay. {One step toward 
Mrs. Bul., to clear r. entrance.') But who's this? 

Ernest Rench enters l. , with luggage. Takes two steps to l. c. 

Har. This, Mrs. Fitz, is the man of the future; Mr. Ernest 
Rench, president of the Cornell Aero Club, at present acting as 
our companion, guide, and chauffeur. 

(Hand on shoulder. There must be utmost cordiality be- 
tiveen the two young men.') 

Deacon enters r., remaining extreme R., not seen by }Lm:e. 

Watches in surprise, until he takes in the situatioji ; at 

the words ^' Mrs. Fitz,*' bursts out laughing, slapping 

himself and exclaiming : ** Summer trash / " ^^ Malviny's 

ghost f' 

Kate. Oh, my ! What are we going to do ? There isn't 
another room in the house left for Mr. Rench ! 

Ern. That's all right; I'd rather sleep out, anyhow. I can 
put up a shack in that pine grove on the hill. 

(Kate shows interest in Ern.) 

Har. Yes, Rench, and I'll come with you. Then you 
can imagine you're Stevenson on his travels with a donkey. 
Ern. Will you tell me where to put these things, Mrs. Fitz ? 

{Loud laugh from Deacon. Kate turns round astonished.) 

Deacon. She's just as peart as ever ! Kitty, what tricks 
you up to now ? 

(Kate, embarrassed, has ?io answer ready.) 

Mrs. Bul. Mr. Fitz, your wife has kindly consented to let 
us stay here for a few days. 

Deacon. My wife ! By the jumpin* grasshopper ! my 
wife ! 



1 8 THE deacon's second WIFE 

John. At ten dollars apiece a week. 

Dor. You will let us stay, won't you ? We all love the 
place already. 

Har. You'll be doing your country a service, sir. I am 
special correspondent for the New York Watch- Out, and they 
want me to write a series of articles on Roosevelt's Farmer's 
Commission. So if I could get right on the farm and help run 
it, you see — find out at first hand what the farmer's problem 
really is 

Deacon. Lord, boy, there's forty thousand problems, and 
they're different every year. 

Dor. And I'll lead the simple life in the kitchen, and get 
material for college themes ! 

Har. And Rench, here, knows enough about machinery to 
mend up everything you've got. 

Deacon. Well, you settle it with Kitty — she seems to be 
boss here. I can 

Enter Mrs. B., l. 

Mrs. B. I thought I'd just run over — land sakes alive 1 
What's all this mess of people ? 

(Nan. a7id Mil. cross to her, L., and explain in aft under- 
tone, poiftting to Kate, r. c. Mrs. B., c, tmconvinced, 
shakes her head.) 

Mrs. Bul. Mrs. Fitz, your husband is willing ; now may 
we say it is settled ? 

(Mrs. B. flings off children and crosses c, confronting 
Mrs. Bul.) 

Mrs. B. But you don't understand. I don't know who 
you are, ma'am, but I feel it my bounden duty to warn you 

Mrs. Bul. (condescefidingly'). You wouldn't be concerned, 
I assure you. (Mrs. B. stiffens up.') We don't expect a 
Waldorf-Astoria. 

(Mrs. B. turns angrily and crosses down L.) 

Kate. Come, I'll show you the rooms. 

\_Exeunt r., Kate, Mrs, Bul., Har., Dor., John ^w^Ern. 

(Deacon on stage, r., Mil. and Nan., l., all laughing 
heartily. Mrs. B., c, angry and worried.) 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE I() 

Deacon. She's the same peart little Kitty ! She's sister 
Beth's own child ! She takes right holt ! 

Mrs. B. You're all a passel of children together. You 
can't get no encouragement from me (/^ Deacon), nor you 
wouldn't from Malviny, nuther ! 



CURTAIN 



Picture for Call 

Enter Kate, r., folloived by Deacon, with his hand on her 
shoulder ; both cross L., Mrs. B. following to C, shaking 
her finger at them. The city people, ivithout their ivraps^ 
group about door R. Mil. and Nan. take hands and 
dance extreme l. Mrs. F. appears behind windoiv l. c. 



ACT II 

SCENE. — The back porch and yard of farmhouse. Land- 
scape drop in third grooves. R., porch, ivith door into 
kitchen ; l., front, a big tree ; near it, wood-pile and sazu- 
horse ; a few sticks cut, lying near chopping-block. Beside 
porch steps, a wash-stand with tin basin. 

{Before curtain rises, noise heard as of saw being pushed 
slowly through log. Har., coat off aiid red in the face, 
is disclosed sawing wood. John Bullock, sitting on 
piazza, in armchair, reading paper and occasionally look- 
ing up to criticize Har.) 

Har. Woof ! {Leaves log half sawn and sits on it.') Back 
to nature with a vengeance ! A good half hour on this wood- 
pile, and only four logs sawn up. My article for the Watch- 
Out will be full of local color. ''Why Boys Leave the Farm ! " 
{Saws the stick through and sits on sawhorse.) One more 
suggestion for the Roosevelt Farmer's Commission. {Business 
of writing in note- book.) '* Cook by gas ! " Now for split- 
ting it up. 

{Business of balancing stick on chopping-block, and aiming 
at it with axe. Continue, to huitior audience.) 

John {rising; on steps'). Hartley {speaks with an irri- 
tating drawl), as a woodchopper, I should estimate your value 
per diem as just about thirty cents. 

Har. About thirty dollars is what I'll ask, if I ever live to 
collect my wages. {Note-book.) "Economic aspects of the 
wood-pile. Thirty dollars, or thirty cents?" 

John. Now, when I was a boy, we used to lean the stick 
against the block. 

Har. Like that ? 

John. Hold the lower end firm with the foot, swing your 
axe over your head 

Har. {following directions, but lowering axe gingerly). No, 
thank you. 

20 



THE DEACON*S SECOND WIFE 11 

John. What's the matter ? 

Har, I'qi afraid of spoiling the shine on my shoes. Be- 
sides, if I cut off my toes, they'd clutter up the lawn. {Note- 
book.') " Picturesque detail of farm story. Barefoot boy chop- 
ping wood ! " 

John. Well, my son, if you want to make your living on 
the farm, cut out that note-book business. Why, you are as 
bad as that artist fellow your sister Dorothy talks about, — him 
and his sketch-book. Why don't you young fellows take up 
something practical, instead of scribbling and scrawhng ? 

Har. Now look here, dad, why are you so sore about poor 
Phil Gamboge? You've never even seen him. 

John. Never seen him? No, and I never" will see him, if I 
can help it. Why, sir, what right has a fellow like him to be 
dangling after my Dorothy? Never earned a cent of money 
in his life, and never will ! Dorothy'll have ten thousand a 
year, if she behaves herself. 

Har. I should think that might be enough for them both. 

John. Why, Hartley, would you have your sister marry a 
miserable young dabbler in paint pots and easels and fol-de- 
rols, that can't pay his own way? 

Har. They say Gamboge has a fine reputation among his 
brother artists. 

John. Fiddlestick's end ! His fellow artists haven't a 
grain more business sense than he has — or you either. What 
does a single one of them know about stocks? No, don't say 
a word; Pm going out to talk to the Deacon, or somebody 
with some sense. \_Exit John, l. 

Har. Poor old Phil — I guess he's down and out. The 
governor might just as well give them his blessing and an en- 
dowment ; he's got money enough for the whole bunch of us. 

Enter Dor., r., from house. She wears a well-made summer 
costume of white linen, with a flower in her hair. Small 
fancy apron, more for show than use. Carries large 
tin pan of unshelled peas, and a colander. 

Dor. Hart, I wish you'd clear up your old wood-pile ! I 
want to come out and work. 

Har. Far be it from me to deprive my little sister of so 
novel an experience. 

Dor. Don't be so impertinent. Take your handkerchief, 
and brush off that stool. 



22 THE DEACON*S SECOND WIFE 

Har. That's not a stool, that's a chopping-block. 

Dor. I intend to consider it a stool. Now you may up- 
holster it with that red object around your neck. (Har. takes 
off bandanna handkerchief and spreads it on block.) Thank 
you ; with just a little polish you'll make a regular Sir Walter 
Raleigh. 

Har. Now perhaps you'll tell me what we are going to 
have for supper — and how soon. 

Dor. We're going to have the best supper you ever had in 
your life. I'm getting it all myself. Chicken — I've just sent 
Milton to catch one, and that crazy boy merely opened his 
mouth and laughed. And peas — you've got to help me shell 
'em. And fudge cake. 

Har. How long is all this going to take? 

Dor. Supper's at six; it's now ten minutes past five. 

Har. Are you sure you'll get that fudge cake in all right? 

Dor. Oh, that's the easiest thing of the lot. Why, up at 
Northampton we made them all the time. Nobody ever does 
anything at college without fudge cake. 

{Business of shelling peas.) 

Mrs. Bul. enters from l. She wears city clothes y and car- 
ries parasol. Letter in hand. 

Mrs. Bul. {ivith easy good nature). Now, children, what 
can I do to help? You know this is " back to the farm " for 
us all. No, I think I'll not shell peas ; the pods, you know, 
might stain my gown. But the veranda certainly needs picking 
up and dusting. 

{Business of putting away John's paper ; dusting chairs 
and railing with pocket handkerchief, etc.) 

Dor. Have you been way to the village, mother, so soon ? 

Mrs. Bul. Yes, dear, and such a charming village. Really, 
the church is quite a little gem, and the village folk very re- 
spectable, hard-working people. 

Dor. And did you do my errand at the baker's? 

Mrs. Bul. My dear, there isn't any baker's. 

Dor. How stupid of them ! Why, then I can't make my 
fudge cake. 

Har. Does the making of a fudge cake demand the co- 
operation of a baker ? 

Dor. Of course, stupid. You get the layers of cake from 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 23 

the baker, then make your fudge, and stick it together. How 
perfectly maddening ! 

Har. Sister, I did not know you were such a cook. Did 
you find any mail, mother ? 

Mrs. Bul. Only one letter ; and that was addressed to 
Miss Kate Rollins. The postmaster said she was staying at 
this house. I assured him there was no such person, but he 
grinned in his ignorant country fashion, and made me take it. 
I'll leave it here on the railing till Deacon Fitz comes back. 

Dor. Nothing for me ? 

Mrs. Bul. Now, Dorothy, don't bring up the subject of 
Philip Gamboge again ; it's very painful to me. You know 
what your father 

Enter Kate, 7nade up as ** Aunt Kitty** still ; cotton wrap- 
per y etc. 

Dor. (^jumping up and running to her, upsetting peas ^ which 

Har. and his mother painfully pick up). Oh, Aunt Kitty, I've 

a^big surprise for you ! I'm getting the whole supper myself! 

^Kate. You dear child, you needn't have done that. I was 

looking out for it. 

Dor. I love to. You see I may need experience. May I 
confide in you ? I may — in the very near future — I may — be 
cut off without a penny ! And so we're going to have chicken 
and fudge cake — oh, no, not fudge cake — chicken and peas. 

Kate. Those peas ? 

Dor. Yes, and the chicken Milton is catching for me. 

Kate. My dear Dorothy, your peas wouldn't be cooked 
before midnight ; and as for the chicken 

Dor. Why not the chicken ? 

Kate. We'll have that to-morrow ; it would be so tough 
now you couldn't cut it. 

Dor. Oh, what a maddening place ! {Tears apron of and 
flings it on sawhorse.) The baker won't bake, and the 
chicken won't cut, and the peas won't cook. I'm sure at home 
we have chicken the day it's ordered, and the peas you can 
cook in the can in ten minutes ! And all my supper gone up ! 

{About to weep.) 

Kate. There, child, you needn't worry a mite. I've just 
got some pop-overs in the oven, and there's sausage and coffee, 
and doughnuts for desert. That will please Uncle Barachias. 



24 THE deacon's second WIFE 

Mrs. BuL. Uncle Barachias? 

Kate (embarrassed). Yes, yes, that's the Deacon. He'd 
be pleased to pieces if you'd call him uncle — ^just as you call 
me Aunt Kitty. Uncle Barachias and Aunt Kitty ! {^Laughs ; 
aside.) Oh, dear, what would Aunt Malvina think ? 

Mrs. Bul. I wonder who Aunt Malvina js? 

Kate. Now, Dorothy, if you want practice in housekeep- 
ing, run in and set the table. Put on the red tablecloth. Mr. 
Hartley, would you run down to the garden and tell the Deacon 
and Mr. Rench it's most supper time? 

Mrs. Bul. My dear, before you lay the cloth, I must make 
sure the table is dusted ! \_Exeutit all but Kate. 

Kate. My, what a helpless lot ! What if Aunt Malvina 
came back and found them all here ! Wouldn't the fur fly ? 
That Mr. Rench knows what he's about ; the rest haven't sense 
enough to tie their own shoe-strings. 

Mrs. Bul. {in door). Beg pardon, Mrs. Fitz, is this the 
dust cloth ? 

Kate. No, that's the jelly bag ! Look under the sink. 

Mrs. Bul. Thank you, Mrs. Fitz ! 

(Nan. afid Mil. burst in, convulsed with laughter, from be- 
hind the tree. Nan. has altered her hair and costume a 
little, in imitation o/Dor. ; flower in hair, etc.) 

Nan. {mockingly). Beg pardon, Mrs. Fitz ! 

Mil. Beg pardon, Mrs. Fitz ! Do let me dust the barn. 

Nan. {i?nita ting Mrs. Bvl.'s artiflcial manner). You must 
let me lay the cloth ! 

Mil. Gee, but they're green ! Catch a chicken for supper ! 
By haystack ! 

Nan. When maw comes home, won't she make 'em scratch 
ground ? 

Mil. Look at how that city guy chops wood ! {Busijiess 
of imitating.) By haystack ! Cousin Kate, you're a good 
fellow ! 

Nan. Ain't she, though? I wish I could act out somebody 
like that ! 

Kate. Oh, it's larks. But it makes you so hungry ! Mil- 
ton, go reach your hand in the pantry window and get us all 
some doughnuts. 

(Mil. goes ; business of hooking doughnuts ; returns with 
them and the letter.) 



THE DEACON*S SECOND WIFE I5 

Nan. But ain't Dorothy the sweetest thing? An' that 
dress ! She looks as slick as a mitten ! 

{Unseen by Kate, she slyly picks ttpT>OR.'s apron frofn saw- 
horse and puts it on.^ 

Kate. Oh, yes, she's a dear, — if she can't cook a supper. 
Mil. Say, Kate, here's a letter ! Says Miss Kate Rollins. 
Kate. Let me have it. 

Mil. Lessee who it's from. Postmark, " Dorchester, " by 
haystack ! It's maw ! 

(KAtE takes letter and tears it open. All three sit in a row 
against tree^ munching doughnuts. She reads letter 
aloud.') 

Kate {reading letter'). **Dear Niece Kate: — I take my 
pen in hand to say we are all enjoying good health except your 
Uncle W. and the bay horse that got the blind staggers. The 
doctor come last night and give him a bolus, but did no good. 
Your Cousins Sam and Jubal has the farm work on their hands 
and can't leave until things is settled one way or the other. 
His trouble is rheumatiz, same as my husband. I can't be 
back as soon as I said, as there ain't a real smart person around 
to do for your uncle. Tell Mrs. Brown she may let you have 
all the doughnuts you want, but not too much pie, especially 
mince, which would give you dispepsy. You make a bolus by 
rubbing a great spoonful of ipecac into a soft middle of a raised 
biscuit, make a ball of it and jam it down the throat. (Mil. 
chokes on a doughnut ; Nan. slaps his back, etc.) As that is 
all for this present, and with dutiful regards to Mr. F., in haste, 
Aunt Malvina." Not coming back yet. I'm so afraid these 
folks will find me out. Think we can keep it up? 

Mil. Sure ! Jump up, though, here come the fellows. 

Enter, l., from fields, Ern. and Har., carrying shovel, 
rake, etc. Kate gives Ern. a doughnut behind Har.'s 
back. 

Har. Oh, my Lord! *'The plowman homeward plods 
his weary way" — make a note of that. Ernest, how do you 
keep going ? 

Ern. Me ? Oh, I guess I can stand it. Hoeing weeds is 
nothing to propping up a motor-car with your back. Sonny, 
how's your phonograph ? 



i6 

Mil. It works great since you fixed it. By haystack ! I'll 
give you a concert after supper. 

Nan. An' be sure to play {any sentimental song) for Dor- 
othy ; I know she'd like something sweet. 

{Sings first two lines. Dinner-bell rings ^ off stage ; exit 
all into kitchen, r. Kate, last on stage, detains Ern. a 
moment.') 

Kate. Sure you're not letting them all work you too hard ? 
Ern. Me? They couldn't work me too hard. You're an 
old dear to think of it, though. 

{Gives her an affectionate hug, and exits R.) 

Kate {in some co?ifusion). It's kind of nice to be an old 
dear — but suppose he should find out ! 

{Exit R., as Deacon and John enter, talking.) 

John. Deacon, your corn don't seem to be coming very 
fast. 

Deacon. It do look a long way from Johnny Cake, don't 
it? 

{Slaps thigh and laughs. Crosses to R., to wash face at 
basin. Kate enters, r., with dipper of water and roller 
towel.) 

John. You know I was once president of the Chrysan- 
themum Society, so I understand such things. What you need 
is to get corn started the fall before. Now if I were you, I'd 
plant it in two-inch pots, under glass. 

(Deacon tur?is abruptly away and hides his laugh by splash- 
ing and spluttering i7i the basin. John crosses and exits 
to kitchen. Deacon rubs face into big towel and laughs.) 

Deacon. Plant corn in the fall — in pots — under glass ! Set 
fire, you ! \_Exit r., laughing and slapping hitns elf . 

{Stage remains empty for a moment ; then enter in a lei- 
urely way, Philip Gamboge, a young artist. Tramper's 
knapsack. Small sketch-box in one pocket, sketch-book in 
another. ) 

Phil. This is the town Dorothy's postal said ; but which 
Deacon Fitz's house is, remains to be seen. But what a paint- 



THE deacon's second WIFE 27 

able old doorway! By Jove, I must get a note of that. 
{Seated on block, begins to sketch rapidly.) All it needs is a 
pretty girl in the doorway. . ,.s t^x^v , 

Dor (opening door ; astonished at seeing htm). Philip 1 
Phil. Dorothy ! You here? I've hunted all New Hamp- 

^^^''^OK. Crossing to him). Ssh ! They're all in there at 
supper ! If daddy heard you, he'd be out here with a pitch- 
fork. Hush, hide behind the tree. r i . n 

Phil I'm determined to meet him and have a frank talk. 
Do you think he'll ever give his consent to our marriage ? 

Dor Philip, he's perfectly maddening. He won t even 
hear of meeting you ; he's dragged us all over New England 
to get out of your way. Whenever your name is mentioned 
he simply gets up and paws the air ! 

Phil And all because I'm not a business man! How 
would it do if you told me how to jolly him up, and then intro- 
duced me to him suddenly, and let me try ? 

Dor Why, daddy's an old dear when you know how to 
manage him. If you could only get him going about some of 

his hobbies. , ^ j .u . u j 

John (at door). Dorothy ! Haven't you found that hand- 
kerchief yet ? . , , ,1 J f 

Dor. Yes, but, daddy, one of the neighbors called for a 
minute to find out something. 

John. Well, tell him quick and come in to supper. 

(Door shuts.) 

Phil. Yes, do tell him quick, but don't go in to supper; 
what are those hobbies ? r^ , . , u n 

Dor. Well, first there's the stock market. Daddy s a bull, 
and he's sure the industrials are going up. 

Phil. What are industrials ? 

Dor. Oh, steel and sugar and rubber and those things. 

Phil. All right ; I'm a bull, then, and it's all up with steel. 
What next? , ,. . , 

Dor. Then, poUtics; he thinks Roosevelt's policies made 

the panic. ,. ^ ^ . . 

Phil Very well ; bull for steel ; lion for Teddy. 

Dor. And farming. Daddy was once president of the 
Chrysanthemum Show, so he thinks he knows how to run a 
farm, 



28- THE deacon's second WIFE 

Phil. Industrials, chrysanthemums, and my policies. I'll 
get them all down fine. Just give me a chance to meet him. 

Enter Kate, from kitchen^ r. 

Kate. Dorothy, do come in and finish your supper — we're 
almost through. 

Dor. (^presenting Phil.). Mrs. Fitz, this is my friend, 
Mr. Gamboge. And could you make room for him to stay a 
few days? He'll do anything — the wood-pile, or' the garden, 
or the haying — won't you, Philip? 

Phil. Yes, I haven't done any landscapes this year. Let 
me do the haying. Or just this little bit here — the old tree is 
very paintable. 

Kate {aside). That's why she wants to learn housekeep- 
ing. I'll just help them out. What larks! {To Phil.) 
Really, Mr. Gamboge, I don't see what I can do; we have a 
house full of company now. 

Phil. That's all right; I like company — especially this 
company. 

Dor. Couldn't you give him a cot in the attic? 

Phil. Or on the piazza, like a Fresh Air Fund ? 

Kate. I could let you sleep on the hay in the bam loft, 
only there's one objection. 

Phil. That's nothing ; everything has at least three objec- 
tions. What is it ? 

Kate. Hornets. 

Dor. Philip ! You shan't sleep in a barn full of hornets. 

Phil. Don't mind 'em a bit. I'll train their moral naturet 
by the appeal of the fine arts. If that doesn't work, I'll resors 
to cigarettes. 

Kate. Cigarettes ! In the hay barn ? I guess not, young 
man. I'll just get one of the men to show you to the barn, 
but you leave your cigarettes with me. 

Dor. You to the barn, and don't tell daddy he's here. I 
don't want to spoil dad's supper. 

Kate. I'll say he's a new hired man. \_Exit. 

Phil. Jolly little old lady. By George, Doro, I don't be- 
lieve she's so old either, in spite of her white hair. Did you 
notice her back ? Just as limber as a girl's. 

Dor. She's just as good as a girl. Do you know, Phil, 
I've told her a little about us, and she's the dearest thing — 
showing me all about housekeeping. She's just as interested ! 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 29 

Phil. Well, so am I. Who wouldn't be interested ? But 
do you know, I'd like to paint her; she's awfully chic. 
Dor. And wasn't it dear of her to take you in ? 

{Both seated 071 choJ>ping- block, back to house ; holding hands S) 
Enter Deacon. 

Deacon. Hem mtwi / You the fellow that wants a job ? 
Seems to me you are pretty much at home already. 

Dor. {taking Phil.'s handkerchief and winding it around 
his finger). Oh, I was just tying up his finger ; he had such 
a bad cut ! 

Phil. Yes, Pm liable to cut myself that way most any time. 

Deacon. Well, you come along to the barn, and then PlI 
see about some supper for you. 

(Phil, and Deacon, off l.) 

Dor. Now Pve just got to prepare daddy's mind. When 
he knows Phil is here, won't he just paw the air ! 

The family enter, R.,from supper. John and Ern. cross and 
sit on block and logs ; Mrs. Bul. and Har. on porch 
steps ; Nan. crosses to Dor. ; Mil. crosses, gets armful 
of kindlings and reenters house. 

Nan. Dorothy, do come in and have some supper. Your 
sausages are on the back of the stove. 

Dor. {crossing with her to r., and pausing at steps'). 
Mummy, dear, won't you put in a good word for Philip once 
more? Pve a very special reason ! 

Mrs. Bul. Pll try again, but you can't expect too much, 
as Pve never even seen him. 

[Dor. exits quickly with Nan., r. 

John {to Ern.). Now, if you want my advice, Pve been 
around a good deal, and seen a good many automobiles. If 
you would take the working parts of the engine out every night 
and let them soak in kerosene 

Mrs. Bul. My dear, do let Mr. Rench enjoy his little after 
dinner rest. Have you read your paper? 

John. Pve read day before yesterday's paper ; that seems 
to be the latest news you can get here. 

Mrs. Bul. Very interesting issue, wasn't it? 

John. Yes, if you find it interesting to lose a thousand dol- 



30 THE deacon's SECOND WIFE 

lars an hour. Since I left Wall Sireet the bears seem to be 
having it all their own way. 

Mrs. Bul. Did you read the art notes? 

John. Have you ever known me to read the woman's 
page? 

Mrs. Bul. There's a most interesting account of the mid- 
summer exhibit of American painters at Lyme. And the first 
medal was awarded to Hartley's friend, Philip Gamboge. 

John. Aha! That's the nigger in the wood-pile, is it? 
What's the medal worth — ten dollars? 

Har. It's worth everything — it's worth a reputation as a 
leader of the younger American painters. 

John. When your leader of American painters sells pic- 
tures, I'll have more faith in his medals. 

Har. But, dad, think of the capital tied up in the hundred 
and ten canvases in his studio. Who knows what they may 
bring, some day? 

John. Yes, who knows? When I gamble in futures, I 
want some line on the price, anyhow. Why, Hartley (rising 
excitedly), don't you see those hundred and ten pictures aren't 
worth a cent till he sells one and establishes a i)rice ? 

Har. Do you mean the years of training and the months 
of hard work they represent have no value ? 

John. No more than if he'd spent those years twiddling 
his thumbs. If you and your mother had the slightest idea of 
business, you'd see that value means the ratio of supply to de- 
mand. And if the demand is nil 

Har. Why, then the more pictures he paints, the poorer he 
is ! Poor old Phil ! \^Exit into kitchen. 

Mrs Bul. I do wish you men wouldn't get so excited when 
you argue. Your old business reasons are so tiresome ! 

John. Why, Evelyn, I should think any one with the least 
atom of sense — Rench, you see the pointy don't you? How in 
thunder can an artist support a wife when all his paintings 
bring is gold-plated medals ? If I could see the young fool 
himself, I'd convince him 

Enter Deacon, with Phil., l. 

Deacon. Ladies and gentlemen, this is our new hired man, 
Mr. Cabbage. 
Phil. Gamboge. 
Deacon {hand to ear). Hey? 
Phil. Gamboge. 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 3I 

Deacon. Oh, yes, Mr. Gamboge. 

Mrs. Bul. Hartley's friend ? 

Deacon. I guess you city folks'll like him. Seems to be 
more interested in takin* pictures than he does in gettin' his 
supper. 

Mrs. Bul. How very charming ! 

Deacon. Yes, he wouldn't come to supper till he'd finished 
a picture of some funny kind of flowers. 

Mrs. Bul. Really? Mr. Gamboge, do let us see it. 

Phil. It's only a little sketch — a note of some kind of 
chrysanthemum. {Pulls out little sketch.) 

John. Chrysanthemum? Why, that's no chrysanthemum 
known to floriculture. That thing looks like a Skye terrier in 
a whirlwind. 

Phil, (^gravely). It's a new kind, just imported. They 
call it the ''Admiral Togo." 

John. Well, well ! Most extraordinary ! Strange I 
shouldn't have known about it. So you're interested in chrys- 
anthemums? 

Phil. Have been for years. Why, sir, last fall we'd have 
had the world's record for them in this country, if it hadn't been 
for the panic. I tell you, sir, when Roosevelt's term is over 

John. My idea exactly. Is that little sketch for sale ? 

Phil. No, it's hardly worth selling. Of course, if it inter- 
ests you, you're welcome to it. 

Mrs. Bul. But, Mr. Gamboge, if you're always so gen- 
erous with your work, how will you ever make any money ? 

Phil. Oh, I'm not worrying, so long as stocks are going up. 

John. Going up? I haven't seen a paper in three days. 
What's going up ? 

Phil. Everything — five and ten points. But mostly indus- 
trials. The leader yesterday was Chrysanthemum Preferred — 
I mean Sugar Preferred, followed closely by Roosevelt Common. 

John. Roosevelt Common ? 

Phil. Excuse me — Rubber Common. Rubbers went up to 
a dollar and a quarter a pair. 

Deacon {who has crossed the porch). Come, young man, 
the girls is waitin' to give you your supper. 

John. Yes, yes, but how about Sugar? 

Phil, {crossins: ^.\ Sugar? Oh, Sugar! Why, Sugar's 
formed a combine with Cream Preferred, Quaker Oats Com- 
mon, and every morning they go down faster ! 

\^Exit R., quickly. 



31 THE deacon's second WIF£ 

John. Evelyn, that young man appears to have lost his 
reason. 

Mrs. Bul. But, my dear, he seems to be pretty well in- 
formed. And it's certainly praiseworthy of him to turn his 
summers to profit doing farm work. 

John. But what did he mean about stocks being up? Do 
you think he knows? 

Mrs. Bul. My dear, you must get your mind off tliose 
wretched stocks. Dorothy shall come and soothe your fore- 
head. Dorothy! Dorothy, dear! {Enter Dor., r., also 
IrlkR., followed by Kate and Deacq-n, who stands in door- 
way ufiiil curtain.) Dorothy, go soothe your father's head. 
He's been thinking about that old stock market again. 

Kate. Milton's fixing up a little surprise that will give you 
something else to think about. 

Dor. {standing behind hiniy stroking his forehead). Daddy, 
dear, no bulls and bears up here. See how quiet it is — not a 
sound but the crickets. 

Mrs. Bul. Not a single trolley-car. 

Har. Not a theatre for two hundred miles 

Dor. Or a roof garden 

Har. Or a taxicab 

Mrs. Bul. Or a hand-organ 



Dor. Nothing but still, quiet country — back to nature's own 
heart ! 

{From window comes sound of ^Iw..^^ phonography loud and 
strident y playing the latest comic song.) 



CURTAIN 

For Call 

{City people covering their ears. Kate arw^ Deacon smil- 
ing, beating time; Nan. ^w^Mil. dancing in middle of 
stage.) 



ACT III 

SCENE. — Same as Act I, with the furniture rearranged and 
the decorations tnuch more simple and artistic. The stove 
and the '' what-not'' in the corner have been taken away and 
a bowl of daisies adorns the fireplace. Most of the pictures ^ 
including the portrait of << The Squire,'' have been taken down 
from the wall. The tidies have been taken from the chairs, 
and the table-cover from the table, which is now placed c, 
between the windows, with the top tilted up against the wall. 
The sofa is placed agaifist the wall down l. Table, mantel 
and walls are now decorated with old fashioned things — 
brass, petvter, blue china, etc. On the majitel, which Dor. 
is arranging as the curtain rises, stands a sitnple sto?ie fug 
or pitcher of wild flowers — yellow daisies or blue flag. 
Down L. c, near sofa, stands Phil.'s easel with a canvas on 
it — a portrait of " Aunt Kitty." The windows are draped 
with cheap but pretty striped cotton print. At doors are por- 
tieres of old hand-woven spreads or the oldfashioned blue 
and white rugs. Two chairs up stage near table ; one down 
R. ; another down l., near easel. 

Phil, {standing off, as YyosL. alters position of flower fugs'). 
There ! No, left a little. Just there. Now, that's very chic, 
isn't it? 

Dor. It's perfectly adorable. You were the sweetest thing, 
Aunt Kitty, to let us pull your room to pieces and to arrange 
it all over like this. Don't you like it? 

Kate (rising and coming down c, looking around). Yes, 
I like it — but I don't know what Mrs. Brown would think — or 
Aunt Malvina. 

Dor. Aunt Malvina ? Who's Aunt Malvina ? 

Kate (aside). Now I've done it ! Why, Aunt Malvina — 
don't you know ? She was the Deacon's first wife ! 

Phil. Well, I don't see how she can have any say now, or 
old lady Brown, either. Why does she keep running over and 
laying down the law and the gospel as if she were boss here? 

Kate. Well, I suppose she thinks it a duty. You see 
when Aunt Malvina left us 

33 



34 THE deacon's second WIFE 

Phil. I thought the local phrase was *' passed beyond." 

Dor. Stop, you bad boy. Go on, Aunt Kitty. 

Kate. When Aunt Malvina left us, she asked Mrs. Brown 
to take care of the Deacon. 

Dor. Never dreaming, of course, that you would be here. 

Kate. Yes, she knew I'd be here before she went. 

Phil. But she preferred Mrs. Brown as a successor ? 

Kate. She thought Mrs. Brown would be a better manager. 

Dor. It's the most romantic thing I ever heard of! Think 
of her calmly picking out her husband's second wife for him. 

Kate. You see, Mrs. Brown doesn't always grasp quite 
what's going on. 

Phil. I see ! a little wanting in the upper story, is she ? 
Well, you're mighty good to take so nicely bossing from her. 
Now sit down, like a dear old soul, and let me finish that por- 
trait. The lavender scarf, please — that's it. 

Kate {crossing to arfiichair ; Dor. arrajiges scarf over her 
shoulder Sy then crosses down L., looking over Phil.'s shoulder 
as he paints'). My, what a fix — one fib after another — I won- 
der what I'll tell those poor people next? And what will 
happen when Aunt Malvina comes? 

Phil. (Jo Dor.). Doro, doesn't that shadow under the hair 
need a shade more green ? 

Kate. Green ! (^Jumps up.) Are you painting my hair 
green ? If you've got to change it, make it dark brown — that's 
what it used to be. 

Phil. No, no, Mrs. Fitz ; do sit still — and there by the ear 
just a touch of purple ? 

Kate. I will not stand green hair and purple ears ! {Runs 
across to portrait; bursts out laughing.) Is that the way I 
look? All those funny little white curls? Why, that's just 
like my grandmother ! 

Dor. Then you must have had a dear grandmother. And 
it isn't old a bit — just look, when the hair is covered up. 
{Puts haiids over the hair.) Why, Philip, if you could make 
the New York woman look so girlish, your fortune would be 
made, and dad's last objection would be conquered ! 

Kate (resuming pose). Go ahead ; make me as young as 
you like; anything to help you children along. To see the 
way you two go on makes me almost wish I had a lover 
myself. 

Dor. (a step forward, toward c). Why, Aunt Kitty ! 
You shocking old lady ! How about Deacon ? 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 35 

Kate. Oh, the Deacon ; yes. But you wouldn't call him 
romantic exactly, would you ? 1 mean if I were young like you. 

Dor. {^crossing to Kate and kneeling by her while Phil. 
paints'). If you were young like me, what kind of a lover 
would you want? 

Kate {Jialf laughing, half earnest). Well, he'd be a big, 
strong, manly fellow. I shouldn't want any weakling. 

Dor. No, of course not. 

Kate. Then he'd have to like out-of-doors, and farming, 
and horses and cows, and tools, and machinery ; because I'd 
be a country girl, and wouldn't want to leave all those things 
for a stuffy city house. 

Dor. Oh, I'm so glad ! Then you wouldn't want my 
PhiHp ! 

Kate. No, I'll not take your Philip. He'd have to have 
brown hair and eyes — {run in short descriptio7i of actor play- 
ing Ern.) 

Dor. Why, you've given a perfect description of Mr. 
Rench — and he likes machinery, and just loves farm animals, 
too ! Why, Aunt Kitty ! I do believe you must have loved 
some one just like him, once, years and years ago. 

Kate (Jiesitatiiig). Perhaps I did — once, — years and years 
ago. 

Enter, r., with tea-tray, Mrs. Bul. Crosses up c. and puts 
tray on table. The tray is a big tifi waiter covered with 
red napkins and bearing coarse cups, ^' brown betty'' tea- 
pot, etc.f but arranged as for afternoon tea in a city 
house. 

Mrs. Bul. Now, Philip, you must stop long enough to join 
us in some tea. I'm so delighted to find something about the 
house that I can do. Really, Mrs. Fitz, you manage so skil- 
fully 

Kate. A great deal of it is Dorothy's work, too ; she's get- 
ting to be a splendid housekeeper. 

Dor. (crossing to Phil., down l.). Phil, did you hear 
that? I'm a fine housekeeper! Aunt Kitty says so, and in 
spite of the chicken supper ! Now if you could only get daddy 
to call you a good business man 

Mrs. Bul. It will be difficult to do that, my dear, unless 
Mr. Gamboge can actually sell some pictures. To be sure, 
Mr. Bullock was much pleased at the interest you showed, 



36 THE deacon's second WIFE 

Philip, in the chrysanthemums, and your news about the stock 
market greatly pleased him. 

Phil. I'm afraid my stock quotations were not very accu- 
rate. 

Mrs. Bul. I believe he said something about your memory 
of details which was not wholly flattering, but the main point 
of your news, that there was a strong bull market, has kept 
him in the wildest excitement ever since. Now if you could 
only sell a picture 

Phil. My dear Mrs. Bullock, how kind you are to me. I 
don't mind confiding in you that I hope to have positive news 
from one of my pictures any moment. {Takes stage to R. c.) 
I sent a big allegorical painting to the competition for a new 
State House out West ; it represents Oratory triumphing over 
Plutocracy, with Bryan, idealized, in the centre of the picture. 
The choice was narrowed down to my design and one other, 
and the final decision should have reached me yesterday. I 
don't see what can be keeping back tliat letter ! 

Dor. {crossing to Phil.). Oh, Phil, if you only can get 
that order ! How much would it mean ? 

Phil. Probably eight hundred dollars. 

Dor. Eight hundred dollars ! And daddy said one pic- 
ture would establish the market for the rest. How many have 
you in your studio ? 

Phil. I suppose about two hundred. 

Dor. Twice eight, sixteen, and how many zeroes ? ( Counts 
on fingers.) One> two, three, four; and point off three — 
why, that makes sixteen thousand dollars — or is it a hundred 
and sixty thousand ? ( Crosses to Mrs. Bul. , throws her arms 
about her, and then exit, l. door.) Oh, mamma, Phil and I 
will be too rich for anything ! Isn't it maddening not to get 
that letter ? 

Kate (who has been looking out window). There comes 
Mrs. Brown. I know she'll be horrified at the change in the 
room, and may say something dreadful. You'll all help get 
her talking about something else, won't you? 

Dor. Yes, mother; Aunt Kitty has been telling us poor 
Mrs. Brown is quite out of her head. 

Mrs. Bul. Out of her head ? 

Dor. Yes, she has a delusion that she's the Deacon's sec- 
ond wife. That's why she keeps coming over here and trying 
to boss things. Phil, do take that easel away or she'll go into 
spasms, 



THE deacon's second WIFE 37 

(^Exit Phil., r., with ease I ^ as Mrs. B. enters, l.) 

Mrs. B. I thought more'n likely you needed a hand from 
some sensible person when I see the settin'-room window hung 
with that kitchen apron stuff. (^Looks about her.) Well ! 1 
want to know ! Looks like a cyclone had been through the 
room. Centre table shoved up against the wall like sweepin' 
day, old plates and saucers stuck around, an' where's the 
squire's picture that hung on that wall for sixty years to my cer- 
tain knowledge ? {Reenter Phil.) Well, if Malviny Fitz came 
back she wouldn't know her own rooms. 

Mrs. BuL. Who's Malviny Fitz? 

Dor. {interrupting). She was the Deacon's first wife. 
Aunt Kitty has just been telling us about her. She died 

Mrs. B. Kitty, aren't you ashamed of such goin's on ? You 
tell them the truth, this minute ! 

Kate. I knew her well ; she was everything to the Deacon. 
The house has never been the same. Milton and Nancy are 
her children. 

Mrs. Bul. Poor old gentleman ! and poor children ! They 
seem very happy, though; I'm sure you're like a mother to 
them. 

Kate. I try to be ; and I'm doing my best to make the 
Deacon happy. 

Mrs, B. Kitty, this has gone far enough ; Mrs. Bullock, I 
feel the time has come — Pve set by and seen this house turned 
topsyturvy as long as I can stand. 

Mrs. Bul. Dear, dear, it's a very sad subject. Do take a 
cup of tea, Mrs. Brown ; Ave'U try to think of something else. 

Dor. {handing cup). Cream or lemon, Mrs. Brown? 

Mrs. B. Cream. It may be city manners to mix tea and 
lemonade, but I can't feel that it's quite proper for temperance 
women. Such goin's on. What will happen when Malviny 
comes back? 

Phil. ") 

Dor. y {together). Malvina come back ! 

Mrs. Bul. ) 

Mrs. Bul. You don't have such things happen in this town, 
do you ? 

Mrs. B. There was a message from her on Thursday 

Dor. a message? 

Phil. Heavens ! Have we got in with a crowd of spir- 
itualists ? 



38 THE deacon's second WIFE 

Kate. Oh, Mrs. Brown, do you really think she'd care so 
much? {Crosses L. to Mrs. B.) 

Mrs. B. Care ! When her boast was that not a thing in 
this room was moved for eighteen years ! 

Dor. Oh, Mrs. Brown, it makes me creep to hear you talk 
of the first Mrs. Fitz coming back ! Suppose that door should 
open {Drops teacup.') 

Kate (r.). Don't, don't ! I know just how it would be ! 
The first thing to go would be that table 

Mrs. B. Indeed it would — that would be tipped down and 
moved out into the middle of the room so quick 

(Mrs. B. , to general disapproval, pours tea into saucer and 
cools it by breathing on it.) 

Phil. (l.). Table tipping ! I knew jve'd come to that. 
Next we'll have slate writing ! 

Dor. (l.). If you people don't stop talking about ghosts 
as if they were live people and would walk in any minute, I 
shall faint ! 

Mrs. Bul. (l.). Yes, yes ! Let's talk of something more 
rational. 

Mrs. B. (r.). But, Mrs. Bullock, you don't understand; I 
feel it my duty to explain 

Mrs. Bul. Yes, Mrs. Brown, I'm sure I respect your be- 
lief. I've had friends of all sorts of faiths, — Methodists and 
Christian Scientists and one Mohammedan, — although we've 
always been Episcopalians ourselves. But if you please, if you 
are a Spiritualist, don't try to explain it to us. {Back to tea- 
table.) Take another cup of tea, 

Mrs. B. {handing cup to Mrs. Bul., who puts it on table). 
No, thank you; that tea ain't cooked long enough for me. I 
always cook my tea twenty minutes, so's you can taste the tea. 

Mrs. Bul. But, my dear Mrs. Brown, surely you don't 
consider that healthy ? I'm very sure when I attended lectures 
on hygiene last winter, they said tea should never be boiled. 

Mrs. B. Anybody that's endured as many ills as I have, 
ought to know what's healthy an' what ain't. Now, you take 
this quinsy sore throat — here I've had it three weeks steady, 
an' I've had a different kind of bandage round my throat every 
three days. 

Dor. Yes ; I remember the day we came it was a red flan- 
nel bandage. 

Kate. And then you changed it to ice compress 



THE deacon's second WIFE 39 

Phil. And what is it now ? 

Mrs. B. Onions — a string of boiled onions done up in a big 
handkerchief; that's the old-time country remedy; these new- 
fangled young doctors don't none of 'em know how comforlin' 
to the throat boiled onions is. 

Deacon {outside). Easy there, now ! 

Ern. {outside). That's all right ; never mind. 

Kate. What's that outside ? 

Phil, {at windoiv). They're bringing young Rench from 
the field ; he seems to be hurt. 

Enter John Bullock, r. , excitedly ; to c. 

John. Get some bandages, somebody. Hartley's just stuck 
a pitchfork in Rench's leg, and they're bringing him in here. 

(Kate goes r., quickly. Deacon ^;;^Har. eftter r., helping 
Ern. to sofa, where they set about gettitig off his shoe.) 

Mrs. B. Somebody make a mustard poultice — most any 
sort of trouble is helped by mustard poultices. 

\^Exit Kate, r. 

Dor. {holding out tiny lace handkerchief). Here, tie it up 
with this ! 

Mrs. Bul. I'm sure we shall all faint; do get my smelling 
salts. 

Reenter Kate, r., with bandages ; the men take them and tie 
up the cut. Mrs. B., /^ c. 

Kate. Now just lift up his foot on the sofa so the blood 
won't run down. That's it. 

Mrs, B. 'Pears to me my experience with troubles ought to 
count for something. Bean't you going to poultice it? 

Kate {down\..,infro7itofsofa). Poultice? Nonsense! 

Mrs. B. Well, I wash my hands of the whole matter. Jf 
he loses his leg, you've got yourselves to blame. 1 say nothing 
now, but wait till Malviny comes back. \^Exit, l. 

Kate (l. c). Oh, Mrs. Brown, don't {Crosses r. c.) 

What shall I do? 

Mrs, Bul. I'm sure, Mrs. Fitz, you've done very well, and 
you're not to be frightened by her superstitious, spooky ideas. 
But what's the matter? You look faint. Philip, a glass of 
water, quick ! 



40 THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 

{Takes Kate to chair, r. Exetuif- Phil and John, returnhig 
at once ; Phil, with water, John with whiskey,) 

Kate {sinking into chair, while Mrs. Bul. and Dor. /an 
her). Oh, it's nothing. Pm not used to seeing people liurt, 
that's all. {Sits up and sips water that Fhil. offers.) But you 
don't think he'll be crippled for life, do you? 

John. Have some whiskey ! 

Deacon. Sho, no ! it's only a scratch. By next week he 
won't be as much of a cripple as young Bullock here, all lamed 
up from sawin' wood. 

Ern. No, Pm all fine and dandy already, Aunt Kitty. Pm 
willing to be stuck every day in the week, if you'll pet me up 
like this every time. 

Har. Well, we got the hay all in, old man, if I did mistake 
you for a haystack. 

Deacon. Yes, you boys done fine — and Mr. Bullock, too, 
for a city man. 

Mrs. Bul. {taking ]oiin down r. c). John Bullock! Do 
you mean to say you've been pitching hay ? 

John. Certainly, my dear, certainly. They had none of 
them apparently ever had any instruction in the proper way to 
handle a pitchfork, and were evidently unable to follow my 
directions, so I was forced to take a fork in hand myself. 

{About here Kate goes out and gets a tray of cookies and 
glass of milk for Ern.) 

Har. (l.). The fact is, mother, dad had to do something 
violent to take his mind off the stock market. 

John (r. c). Take my mind off? Do you suppose my 
mind has been off for one minute since I telegraphed for con- 
firmation of the rumor Gamboge brought? Young man {to 
Phil.), I wish you could collect your wits long enough to tell 
me just what stocks were up, and how much. 

Phil. (/// r.). I wish I could, sir, but you know Pm not a 
business man. 

John. Evidently not — evidently not. And apparently my 
office force are not much better ones — two days in answering a 
telegram ! I can't understand that any better than your non- 
sense about Quaker Oats preferred ! 

Reenter Kate with tray ; crosses to sofa, r. , and fusses over 
Ern. 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 41 

Mrs. Bul. (r. c). Come, John, don't pitch mto Mr. Gam- 
boge so. I'm sure he didn't mean anything ! 

Dor. Yes, daddy, do quiet down. You know we packed 
up all your things for you all ready to start the moment you 
get your telegrams; meanwhile, think of all the experience 
we're getting ! 

{Business of Deacon crossing to table and drinking the 
glass of whiskey that Kate refused.^ 

Phil. And if we're losing money on Wall Street, think 
how much we are earning sawing wood ! 

Ern. And pitching hay ! 

Dor. And cooking dinners ! 

Mrs. Bul. And making tea ! 

Kate. But I'm so sorry it's all only pretending, after all. 
When the telegram comes, you'll all be packing off to the city 
and leaving us. 

Har. Well, it looks as if I'd fixed old Ernest so he wouldn't 
rush off. 

Deacon. No, I reckon we won't let him go till he gets a 
little more spry on his feet. 

Ern. I don't mind staying right on ; this is just the sort of 
life that suits me. 

Phil. What, lying on the sofa and having Aunt Kitty feed 
you ginger cookies ? 

Kate {indignantly). You know that isn't what he meant ! 
He means the farm life. You can see that, the way he pitches 
into it ! 

Phil. I should think he meant the cookies from the way he 
pitches into them ! Come, old man, which do you mean ? 

Ern. I mean both ! I think the ideal existence would be 
to own a little farm like this, and live on it with Aunt Kitty. 

Phil. Look out, Ernest, you'll make the Deacon jealous. 

Ern. With Aunt Kitty — for an adopted grandmother ! 

{Through proceeding few speeches, Kate must follow with 
appropriate pantomime y for a laugh at end J) 

John. Well, young man, you might do a lot worse for 
yourself. Why, if I knew a young fellow like you who would 
take such a farm as this and run it on scientific principles, I'd 
be strongly tempted to finance the project for him. I'd con- 
sider it a good investment. 



42 THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 

(Kate takes out tray and cooky plate. ^ 

Ern. Do you really mean it, Mr. Bullock ? 

John. Mean it? Of course 1 mean it! Do you think a 
Wall Street man ever makes a business proposition he doesn't 
mean ? Deacon, is there a farm around here in the market for 
a reasonable figure? 

Deacon. Waal, now, I wouldn't wonder if you could get 
this very farm at a j^retty good bargain. ]\Iy wife and I have 
often spoke of retirin' to a litde house in the village. I guess 
we wouldn't quarrel about terms. Waal, now, I'll just get the 
plans of the farm an' show you how it goes. \^Exit. 

Dor. Daddy ! 

John. Yes ? 

Dor. Don't buy this farm — and Mr. Rench, don't you 
think of living on it. 

John. Why not? 

Ern. Yes, why not ? 

Dor. It's haunted ! 

E*^^ I {.together'). Haunted ! Nonsense ! 

Mrs. Bul. Dorothy, child, don't be frightened by what 
that foolish old woman said. You know the only people who 
can really see ghosts are the Society for Psychical Research, and 
I'm sure she's not one of them. 

Phil. I don't know ! I rather agree with Dorothy, The 
old lady was certainly quite stirred up. 

John. What old lady? 

Ern. What did she say ? 

Phil. Mrs. Brown, the cheerful old bird with the sore 
throat. It seems there's one Malvina 



Mrs. Bul. The Deacon's first wife 



Dor. Who has a way of appearing out of nothing, any 
time ! 

Phil. Your friend Aunt Kitty believes in Malvina — said it 
gave her the creeps to think of her coming back. 

Enter Kate. 

Ern. Aunt Kitty, what's this about the family spook ? Did 

you ever see her ? 

Mrs. Bul. ) .^ ^, . at i • :> 
Dor I {together). Malvma? 

John. The Deacon's first wife ! 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 



43 



Kate (slow/y). Yes, I have seen her. I saw her the very 
day you came. 

Dor. Oo — oh ! How creepy ! 

Mrs. Bul. Now, child, don't get excited. You really 
believe, then, that she actually exists? 

Kate. I'm sure of it — surer than that I'm Mrs. Fitz ! 

Phil. And may appear any moment? Look here. Aunt 
Kitty, you aren't giving us a jolly ? 

Har. You know I may be a yellow journalist, but this is 
coming it pretty strong, even for me. 

Ern. I don't mind if she does turn up once in a while, if 
the Deacon and Aunt Kitty move to the village. I'd be glad 
of some company. 

Kate. The last words she said were : " You'll see me back 
soon." 

Deacon (reentering, fumblhig papers). Na-ow, Mr. Bul- 
lock, I reckon we can talk turkey ( Opposite door opens 

and Mrs. F. appears, with bundles, as before.) Malviny ! 

(^General consterfiation. Picture: l., Mrs. F. ; r. c. 
Dor. and Mrs. Bul. in each other^s arms, almost faint- 
ing. Phil., John afid Har., fanning them and sprink- 
li?ig water ; r.. Deacon, with Kate hiding behind him ; 
Ern. half-rising from sofa.) 

Mrs. F. Wal ! What's all this mess — summer trash ? 

Deacon. Why, they've been our guests for the last week — 
paying guests. 

Mrs. F. I want to know ! Pity I hadn't been here to 
make 'em more comfortable. S'posin* you do some intro- 
ducin'. 

Mrs. Bul. Heavens ! To have a man introduce you to 
his wife's ghost ! 

Dor. Do you suppose it will want to shake hands? 

Deacon. Malviny, this is Mrs. Bullock, an' Miss Dorothy 
Bullock. 

Mrs. F. Pleased to know yer. 

Dor.' ^'''^' 1 (.^'Sether). Delighted ! 

Deacon (r.). These are Mr. Bullock, of New York, Mr. 
Hartley Bullock, Mr. Gamboge, the artist, and on the sofy, 
Mr. Rench, that got stuck with a pitchfork. 

Mrs. F. (c). Pitchfork? Amateur hayin', eh? From what 
I see as I come along, I judge you made a better job than the 



44 '^HE deacon's second WIF£ 

electric belt man did last year. An' who's that behind ye ? 
(Kate steps around Deacon, to r. c. Phil, and Dor. on 
either side of Mrs. F.) Kitty ! You young imp of darkness ! 
What moiikeyshines hev you been up to ? 

{Snatches off her wig ; Kate's hair falls down^ loose or in 
braid. Tableau of astonishme?it ; exclamations : " You're 
not Aunt Kitty!'' ''You're not a ghost !" ''You're 
the real Mrs. Fitz I " etc.y etc.^ 

John (r. c). Mrs. Fitz, you arrived in the midst of a most 
important transaction which doubtless concerns you. Mr. Fitz 
was talking of selling the place in the interest of young Rench. 

Mrs. F. Selling the place, eh? Well, you fix it up between 
you. I guess I could leave off farm work without crying my 
eyes out. Only give me time to straighten up this room ; it 
looks like the day after the auction. 

Deacon. But why didn't you tell us you was comin', Mal- 
viny, instead of jumpin* in on us like that? You most scared 
these bodies into fits. 

Mrs. F. You mean to say you didn't get my letter? Who 
went to the post-office yesterday? {Calls.) Milton ! Nancy 
Melissy ! {Children enter.) Milton, what you got in your 
pockets? (Mil., business of e7nptying pockets Q,. of stage ; pro- 
duces string, nails y kiiifcy etc., etc. ^ finally telegram for ]oii^t 
letters for Deacon and Phil., which are handed around.) 
How'd you come to carry these ever since yesterday morning ? 

Mil. Why, you see, maw, Tom Judd and me fell in the 
brook yesterday, and I thought I'd better carry the letters 
around till they got dry ! 

John {excitedly waving telegram). Gamboge, your news is 
confirmed from New York. The whole market yesterday ad- 
vanced sharply ; my partner says if I can reach New York be- 
fore the advance reaches its climax, we shall have the bears 
begging for mercy. Evelyn, Dorothy, get your things on ! 
Hartley, run out the machine at once. 

Phil. Stop a moment, Mr. Bullock ; my letter says , *' Your 
design for State Capitol accepted ; offer you a thousand dol- 
lars." Mr. Bullock, permit me to make a most respectful ap- 
pHcation for your daughter's hand. 

John. Take her, my boy ; you've shown me you've the art 
of judging the stock market, and if you invest your thousand 
right, you can afford to paint pictures. You'll come back to 
the city in the car with us. Now hurry ! 



THE DEACON S SECOND WIFE 45 

{All scatter, leaving Deacon and Mrs. F., Kate, Ern., 
Nan. and Mil. on stage.) 

Mil. Gee, maw ! You ought to see that Hartley fellow 
saw wood ! {Imitates.') 

Nan. Oh, maw ! that Dorothy's got the slickest clothes you 
ever saw. Wait till I show you what she give me ! 

Deacon. An* if you'd seen this boy Ernest getting tossed 
with a pitchfork, just like he was a cock o' hay ! 

(^Laughs; slaps himself .) 

Mrs. F. But you got the hay all in, did ye? 

Deacon. Every spear of it — twenty-eight ton. 

Mil. An' all the wood cut an* split — two cords an' a half. 

Nan. An' the pies is all gone. 

Mil. An' that's the last one of the doughnuts ! 

(Kate goes up r. to mantel, gets a tobacco box full of money , 
crosses to left of Mrs. F., and gives her the box ; then 
goes L. and adjusts ^r^.'s pilloiv and shawl.) 

Kate. And you'll find the board money behind the kitchen 
clock : forty- five dollars. 

{From this time on Kate remains near Ern., at the sofa ; 
business of coquetry.) 

Mrs. F. Well, you made out to do pretty well for a week's 
managin'. Lucky you did, for my sister's boys couldn't come, 
no way. 

Enter Mrs. B., l. ; goes l. c. 

Mrs. B. Land o' the livin' ! Malviny Fitz, it's a mercy 
you got home when you did ! Such goin's on I never see ! 
Many's the time I tried to warn 'em all and give a helpful word 
of neighborly advice, but in the words of Scripture, it wasn't 
no use to kick against pricks. {Goes up L. c.) 

Mrs. F. Well, you needn't to lose no sleep nor no kicks. 
We've got our hay in, and people paying ten dollars a week for 
the fun of doin' it, and wantin' to buy the farm at the end ! 
Seems to me there was a lesson for some of us in the text : 
" Out of the mouths of babes and sucklin's." 

(John andyi^s. Bul., Har., Dor. and fmh. enter r., and 



46 THE deacon's second WIFE 

file across stage with luggage, dressed in automobile cos- 
tumes, saying: " Good-dye,'^ confusedly as they go. Po- 
sitions for concluding lifies :) 

Nan. afid Mil. Mrs. B. 

Mrs. Bul. 
Dor. and Thil. 
Deacon. Mrs. F. Bul. Kate. Ern., 

(on sofa). 

John. Deacon, remember my offer when you are ready to 
retire from farm life; if Rench wants to take it up, I'm back 
of him. 

Ern. You know what I said — it all depended on having 
Aunt Kate for an adopted grandmother. Now she's too young 
for that, but I just can't get along without her, somehow. 
Perhaps I can persuade her to come as 

Deacon. No, my boy, we won't let you do no persuadin' 
for a year or two yet. She's just nothin' but Beth's little girl 
— {holds out both hands to Kate, who runs down c. to hint) 
our little niece, Kitty. 

Positions : 

Mrs. B. Har. 
Nan. Mil. Mrs. Bul. Dor. Phil. 

Mal. Deacon. Kate. Bul. Ern., 

{on sofa). 



CURTAIN 

For Recall 
(Same positions ^ but Kate lookitig back at Ern.) 



JAN 3 1910 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
SAH 3 1910. 



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